


Alchemy

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York society is buzzing at the annual Petrelli ball over the arrival of two dashing and mysterious gentlemen in this Jane Austen inspired fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alchemy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for piping_hot who requested "Pride and Prejudice" Mylar. This isn't quite P&amp;P, but hopefully it will do.

_“How quick come the reasons for approving what we like!”_   
**-Jane Austen**, **Persuasion**

The city of New York rarely saw a party of such grandiose fashion and the annual Petrelli ball had come to momentously announce the change from one year to the next, more so than any celebrations for the New Year that would follow two months later. Written about and discussed in all social circles (it even broke the society news of a worthy selection of international publications) the Petrellis were a family who drew much attention and knew how to use their public position advantageously.

The family had ties that went back generations in the city and though philanthropic endeavors graced their headlines; the more exact nature of their historical wealth and circumstance remained buried beneath false modesty. Under normal circumstances gossip was afforded the same attention as fact, but on the night of the annual ball all skepticism was easily forgotten in the face of suits and coloured gowns, food that spiced the air in an aromatic bouquet, the strong but relaxing notes of a live band loudly filling up one room then carrying lightly through the connecting passages, and a display of modern and antique rarities that dared to be touched while being admired and adored.

The true ambience of such a night, however, was to be found in the multitude of conversations that echoed in each room amongst the arrangement of moving bodies. Pounding and vibrant or quiet and contemplative were the masses; laughter drew jovial looks and amused shouts in mirthful agreement while more serious discussions of a private nature were contained in dowdy expressions behind the locked door of the study.

This particular evening had a recurring theme not easily run its course: the most recent arrival in the city of the somewhat renowned (for what, specifically, was still a point of debate) Mr. Gabriel Gray and his much better acquainted companion Mr. Adam Monroe. And as the men had not arrived yet their characters were up for facetious critique. Though Monroe’s exploits were salaciously documented and offered much fun by way of repetition, it was Gray whose name was dropped endlessly into conversations surrounded by questions.

In fact an entire fiction was being created for Gray in the far back corner of the main room amongst a group of friends more readily acquainted with the Petrellis (through the sons, Nathan and Peter) than most of the guests could claim. It was in that corner then that the most strange and vexing fictions were thrown about with ease and derision, exposing the exploits of fanciful thinking.

“I promise you—though his beginnings may be humble—I believe the family were watchmakers—apparently he’s a surgeon of sorts,” Mr. Noah Bennet claimed with a tight smile, clearly enjoying the attention of his enraptured audience. “He’s traveled extensively examining the medical practices of different cultures and…there are rumours he has even engaged in some of the more ritualistic practices, such as the consumption of a person’s essence by eating the brain.”

Mock laughter ripped through the small group at the outlandish assertion.

“Eats brains?” Mrs. Tracy Petrelli scoffed. The most recent member of the Petrelli clan, she was Nathan’s second wife after the unfortunate death of his first wife two years earlier, she had easily fit in with his friends while delightfully improving his own dour appearance after such a devastating heartbreak.

“Surely not, Bennet,” Doctor Mohinder Suresh said in disbelief at the very suggestion (although he had heard of such practices and pondered their validity and the notion of any collective belief in it). He looked over his shoulder to ensure the disgusting rumour was not overheard and spread by a random guest, a typical happening at events such as this. He also hoped to catch a glimpse of his closest friend, Peter, in the hope of pulling him aside for a more factual account of the equally derided and admired mystery men.

“Really Mr. Bennet, that’s too much,” Mrs. Petrelli sipped her punch. “I do believe you are mocking us!”

“And why would I do that?”

Mrs. Petrelli put on a knowing smile. “You dislike all this idle chatter about those you know nothing about and wish to make us all feel foolish for it.”

Good humour played out between them. “Mrs. Petrelli, are you implying that I’m making up stories?”

Tracy raised her glass as if making a toast, “I’m suggesting nothing of the sort. I’m _declaring_ you to be a liar.”

“Strong words for someone who has yet to meet the man.”

Mohinder rolled his eyes, good-naturedly, and pursed his mouth. “I certainly doubt an invitation to him—to either of them—would have been extended if he was known to partake in such highly questionable—and absolutely unsanitary —practices. This is nothing more than gossip, Bennet, and surely a guest deserves better than that.”

“Always so serious,” grinned Mr. Matthew Parkman and he squeezed Mohinder’s shoulders. “These are nothing more than scary stories meant to frighten the children.”

“Is that so?” Bennet looked over their heads and spotted his daughter coming off the dance floor. “Claire.”

She responded to his waving her over by cutting quickly through the crowd to the secret meeting. Greetings were politely doled out and a faint flush coloured her cheeks at Mohinder’s bright smile and mannered, “Miss Bennet.”

“My dear Claire,” Mr. Bennet pulled her to his side to face the group in a show of numbers. “Do your part and protect your father, would you? I’m being made into a liar but you’ve heard the same about Mr. Gray.”

With a tinge of embarrassment Miss Bennet recounted what she had overheard during her afternoons tutoring the Petrelli grandchildren, involving very careful listening to the matriarch, Lady Angela Petrelli, who was a bottomless wealth of private information. The end of her account brought about a nearly fantastical crescendo to the rushed hushed tones of them all speaking over one another. Added to the clamoring of unproven musings was the now distinctly unfathomable warrant that Gray was indeed a very distant relative of the Petrellis, a relation that, if proven true, would raise his stature to even higher admiration.

Dreadfully silly mocking soon surpassed logic (as was the case whenever parties went beyond the earlier hours of rationale) and Mohinder soon excused himself to seek out his missing friend and step away from the sordid talk that worked best in small doses but generally gave him a headache after too long.

Moving around and between dancers there were long missed acquaintances that he paused for the occasional exchange necessary to remain in good standing with before escaping. It was during the similarly careful set of steps that he found himself in a quiet spot (the only one apparently) in an alcove beneath the stairs in the main hallway. Peter, it seemed, had had the same idea.

In the tiny space that allowed for the false belief of impenetrability, Mohinder was relieved upon setting his eyes on the youngest Petrelli son, but Peter’s downcast expression raised his concern and he squeezed into the seat next to him on the bench to offer any words of comfort possible. At first it was the usual discourse about Mohinder’s work and Peter’s growing concern for his mother’s exceedingly lofty expectations of him. Soon enough they were discussing the elusive Gray and Monroe and Mohinder was finally made aware of how deep Peter’s frustrations ran.

With Nathan married for a second time Peter’s status as the yet unattached son had become a quandary. Thus Nathan’s invite to Gray and Monroe was more than the civility of social expectations or an attempt at a forged alliance amongst similarly well-connected factions. His Ladyship, it turned out, was intent on finding Peter a wife and her hopes now resided in the belief that amongst Gray and Monroe’s party would be the introduction to a young woman of equal standing that would catch Peter’s eye.

“I believe Nathan overdid it,” Peter said with a roll of his eyes, bringing a warm grin to Mohinder’s face.

“Extolled your virtues, did he?”

“I think that’s putting it lightly.”

Mohinder grasped his shoulder and, with a friendly squeeze, silently declared to his friend that he was not alone. Peter returned the display with an appreciative sigh then shared some information that made Mohinder startle.

“It seems you piqued Monroe’s interest.”

“How is that?”

Peter leaned in confidentially and lowered his voice to little louder than a whisper, “Don’t you know that your name always comes up with mine, especially when it is Nathan doing the talking? That’s what happens when two unmarried men of a certain standing express more of an appreciation for each other’s company than anyone else.”

Mohinder laughed under his breath, partly flattered at his friend’s unfounded insistence that they were of the same social sphere. Mohinder may have been of a decent standing and well regarded in reputation but that did not make up for his lack of familial connections. Still, his friendship with Peter was never questioned and his inclusion in a conversation with someone the like of Monroe was oddly fitting.

“Nathan spoke with him of—,”

“Your work—and Monroe had many questions.”

Mohinder thought on that before mindfully replying. “All of which will be far more interesting than my answers, I’m sure.”

For the next half hour the two friends spoke as if there was no other world except for the one they had enclosed themselves in. Such was the extent of their secretive alliance that it was a full minute before either was aware of the commotion of pattering feet and quickening whispers from just beyond their vestige.

With curiosity in their fast steps they moved into the crowd that filled up the centre of the hallway and caught their first glimpse of the men of whom much (mostly unverified) had been spoken.

“And so it begins,” Peter muttered to Mohinder as his brother made the show of welcoming the most anticipated guests for the evening. “Bennet must be beside himself to catch a glimpse of the man who eats brains and makes his stories worth hearing.”

“Easy, Peter,” Mohinder smiled and took a quick scan of the room. “I imagine they should be more frightened of all of us than you and I of them.”

With that said Mohinder settled his gaze on the show that played out near the front of the hall. The two gentlemen certainly portrayed an air of circumstance but where Mr. Adam Monroe (‘Shorter, lighter hair,” Peter whispered to him) bore a welcoming grin that easily made him the more affable of the two—and captured the fascination of the masses—it was Mr. Gabriel Gray with his reserved and aloof appearance that commanded Mohinder’s attention.

Just as Monroe’s blue eyes and relaxed stance suggested a lightness of countenance—but not lacking depth, rather knowing immediately how to work a room with precision and expertise—Gray’s dark brown eyes, heavy set eyebrows and tall, looming posture, coupled with a smirk not a smile, as he took in the attentive crowd, conveyed a certain superiority in opposition to his surroundings.

‘So this is the mysterious Gray,’ Mohinder thought. ‘An anthropological journeyman on biological expeditions. What must he make of all of this? Specimens, all of us, await his discerning eye.’

It was at that precise moment that Mr. Gray’s eyes met Mohinder’s. In the second that they held, Mohinder felt an uncertainty he had never experienced before. A question with no discernable answer skittered through his mind but was pushed aside as fast as it had made itself known when Mr. Gray’s attention shifted back to Nathan and the illustrious Lady Angela guiding them through the dispersing crowd, many of whom cast furtive looks while pretending to go about their personal conversations.

Monroe nodded and flirted as they made their way along the parted crowd towards Peter and Mohinder. Out of respect for social propriety Mohinder attempted to step back but Peter’s grip on his arm kept him firmly at his side. He could not help but notice that Gray’s attention was diverted from Nathan to that very hold Peter would not give up easily. Only briefly did Gray allow his gaze to steady with Mohinder’s before he was more interested in what lay beyond them.

Nathan led the introduction with Peter and the unfettered proximity afforded Mohinder the chance to better observe the two honoured guests. As expected, Monroe was all smiles and laughter, paying great attentiveness to Peter, to Mohinder’s amused interest. More to the point, it was not that the stranger should be drawn to Peter that was worth noting but that his countenance reflected the feeling of a put upon act meant to ensure ease of conversation. His friendliness was not out of genuine amicability then—although that may have been part of it—but rather insurance that questions asked would not delve into anything of an overly personal nature.

By contrast Gray’s darkened eyes scanning the room, settling for small periods of time on members of the inner circle he stood with, struck Mohinder as not being removed from his surroundings (as he initially believed) but guarded and observationally cautious. Mohinder could not help but wonder if all the stories that had been whispered and declared false by his logic were in fact more likely to be rooted in truth.

“—my very good friend, Doctor Mohinder Suresh.”

Hearing Peter say his name, Mohinder quickly attempted to rejoin the conversation with a broad grin and exchange of nods. Nathan was all humble apologies for not properly acknowledging his presence but Monroe’s suddenly single minded focus on Mohinder put amiss politeness to rest and Peter appeared relieved at no longer bearing the brunt of the spotlight.

“Doctor Suresh, it truly is an honour to meet you,” Monroe said, with a brief glance to Gray who was still staring off towards the crowd. “Your reputation precedes you and your work has been a topic of conversation for us for quite some time.”

Mohinder found himself at a loss for words at the assertion but regained his senses quickly. “You’re very flattering—too much so. I cannot imagine what reputation it is you speak of.”

“A visionary.”

All eyes went to Gray who, having spoken no more than ‘how do you do?’ for the first time since arriving, was suddenly staring intently at Mohinder. His tone was unequivocal and the unwavering sentiment indicating previous knowledge and discussion of Mohinder prior to that evening was unexpected to say the least. It was a surprise furthered with Gray’s next words.

“You presented a paper in London—July of last year—that Mr. Monroe and I found particularly enlightening.”

Now Mohinder found himself absolutely stunned by the recollection of his work, as well as such a positive acceptance of it. As far as he had seen his theories had not gone over as well with the audience when he had first spoken and as such he found himself struggling for the right words. “You—both of you—were there?”

Another first; Gray smiled.

Mohinder was certain he was flushed pink with the heat he felt burning his skin. “I wish I could be as forgiving as you about how it was received. But I think I may have done more damage than gained support for my research.”

Gray regarded him closely and Mohinder felt himself under meticulous examination. “If anything I would say you theories set forth a new way of thinking about that which we still don’t know.”

“Quite the opposite,” Mohinder shook his head, momentarily embarrassed at his admission.

“Nonsense,” said Monroe. “It was understood by the right people, in the right circles.”

Flattered, Mohinder was all ready to engage them further when he caught the scowl on Lady Angela’s face informing him that he had overstayed his welcome. Mohinder took the cue.

“It is with great honour that I find myself regarded with such distinction but as much as I would love to bore you with talk about my work this evening is best spent by you both getting to know those who will be part of your immediate circle while you are in New York.”

Yet he could not let a curious opportunity go and before he lost his nerve to extend any further courtesy that might be selfishly beneficial (and despite knowing his Ladyship would not take too kindly to his forwardness) Mohinder turned to Gray and asked, “Will you be staying long this side?”

Gray contemplated him a moment and Mohinder could swear the beginning of a smirk curled up the side of his mouth at the brashness of the question in front of Lady Angela and the implication in its wake.

“That has yet to be decided. We had not planned to stay beyond Thursday.”

Two days away. It was a most unfortunate circumstance.

“Then I bid you both well as I shall be away tomorrow for a week. If you do plan on returning this way in the future maybe we can speak again then. Please excuse me.”

The remainder of the evening was filled with a myriad of conversations and dance. Mostly Mohinder milled about, drawn in by rapturous discussions while suffering the dizzying awareness of being in the presence of potentially like minds, with whom he could not speak.

Distraction at the forefront, he did his part in filling in the dance cards of a few young ladies—one of whom was Miss Eden McCain, a dear friend with whom many expected a marriage, but the declaration of affection was one sided and though Mohinder wished at times that he could change his mind that was not the case and they had settled, somewhat awkwardly, with friendship.

Dancing took his mind away from thinking too much, but even then he believed (but could not be certain) that Gray was observing him from the busy sidelines where rambunctious men, filled with drink, loudly flirted and cajoled with as many young ladies as they could. Such thoughts were fleeting as a turn of the floor revealed Gray to be nowhere in sight and Mohinder imagined his mind to be playing foolish tricks, the outcome of being taken seriously in the one area he felt himself to be alone.

He tried for ignorance, but a test of wills came in being cornered more than once by Bennet, whose interest in Gray and Monroe went beyond superficial inquisitiveness and bordered on strange. Bennet’s extensive suppositions aside, Mohinder was both open to his cynicism and frustrated by the prejudice front that disallowed for dissent.

The confliction of uncertainty was what kept Mohinder moving throughout the party, rarely stopping for long. Part of it was to not be overtaken by conversations he had little desire to be part of. The other truth was that he was most interested in Monroe’s reasoning in addressing him the way he had, and, more significantly, in finding out as much as he could about Gray. He tried to ascertain why he should be of such importance to them. That it was somehow related to his work was all the more impressive since he had felt that very few people understood and recognized the theories he hypothesized and the actual practical strides he had made.

But well placed caution tempered his awe. Throughout the evening there was a sharp contrast in the faces put forward when Monroe and Gray were conversing with others (decently amiable, although neither seemed taken to dancing beyond a few songs, despite many willing partners) and when they believed themselves to be unobserved in a private dialogue. Alone, Mohinder saw them to be more serious and agitated with each other. Twice Gray had abruptly looked away from Monroe and met Mohinder’s intrusive gaze, forcing Mohinder to act distracted by something else while Gray gripped Monroe’s arm and marched him through the crowd to another corner where they would finish speaking.

That was the other thing. Though he could not explain it, Mohinder found he was drawn to Gray, specifically, which was odd since Monroe possessed the personality (as much a false act as it may be) that normally captured Mohinder’s curiosity. Instead it was Gray whom Mohinder thought about speaking further with, and a night of met glances only made that want more pronounced. With Gray he felt a certain unquantifiable authenticity (although with what purpose in mind was still in question) versus the lack of surety Monroe induced.

He reminded himself they would be leaving soon so attachment was best thwarted early on, but he could not help entertain the thought that finally someone understood some of what he had strived so long and hard for. Where Peter was supportive, if not versed in the intricacies of Mohinder’s research, these men offered that other missing link. And yet the odds of such a fortuitous turn of circumstance did not ease Mohinder’s mind as much as it raised more questions.

With the evening winding down on another successful Petrelli event, and no further chance to reconnect with Peter (whom his Ladyship had swept under her wing—surely, Mohinder guessed, to keep Peter away from him and thereby not be more of a distraction for Monroe and Gray’s attentions) Mohinder felt it best to call it night.

After a flourish of goodbyes, he made his way to the front door and, with one last look over his shoulder for Peter, he sighed a stifled yawn.

“Leaving so soon?”

How fast he already recognized Gray’s voice.

“Soon?” Mohinder laughed. “Hardly. I think with each passing year I become less tolerable of entertaining late nights.”

Gray settled a small grin on him. “Nights like these are really more Mr. Monroe’s foray. I’m much more suited to quiet conversations for two.”

It was Mohinder’s turn to flash a large smile at the personal share and Gray’s grin dropped away as if rendered ineffectual and humbled in response. “Then you do this for him—and for you?”

Gray fixed his eyes on Mohinder’s and took a small step forward while still maintaining a respectable distance. “Sometimes we both get what we want,” he said.

A moment passed and then, suddenly, Gray cleared his throat and moved back. A second later Monroe was next to Mohinder expressing the most polite dismay for not getting the chance to talk again over the course of the evening.

Mohinder shrugged his shoulders and said, “It really is too bad you both will not be staying long. I would have loved to have had the chance to talk more scientific theory with you.”

“Did Mr. Gray not tell you?” Monroe looked surprised (but Mohinder suspected that was for show as well). “We’ve decided to extend our stay indefinitely.”

“Have you?” Mohinder unthinkingly directed his surprised wonder at Gray who glanced with annoyance at Monroe—who, in turn, was unperturbed and apparently far more pleased with the awkwardness he had dealt them both.

“Yes,” Gray forcefully said, his censuring tone cast at Monroe. Then he nodded at Mohinder and calmly continued, “It seems very likely we’ll be seeing each other again, sooner rather than later.”

Mohinder let the words do their intended business of unsettling him and raising unknowable expectations. He was glad at the news but even more skeptical of the reason behind the change of mind from hours earlier. And though he was interested in finding out more about Gray he was also mindful of the unsettled feeling that both he and Monroe induced. By extension of being Monroe’s friend, suspicion was bestowed on Gray in Mohinder’s eyes.

If indeed he were to cross paths with them again, in meetings of a more personal nature, during their stay, he would need to be as vigilant in his heed of them as he was governed to find out more. It would prove to be a difficult undertaking but one Mohinder felt a challenging push to take on headfirst.

“I look forward to it—gentlemen,” Mohinder said and, after an exchange of nods, left them as he set out into the chilled air of a New York night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Heroes Slash Awards  
> **Nominated for Best Alternate Universe**  
> **Nominated for Best One Shot**
> 
> Heroes Faves Summer 2010 Fiction Awards  
> **Nominated for Best Reinterpretation - Vignette -(Honourable Mention)**


End file.
